I can relate the course of my reasoning in cold blood now, but on that day of anxious pondering every other consideration was outweighed by the feeling that I must not go far from Mistress Lucy.  And so I resolved that if I got free I would ask Uncle Moses to lead me to some spot near by, difficult of access, where I might lurk while concerting some means of assisting her.  It passed my wit to conceive of any plan that promised success; but certainly I could do nothing while a prisoner, and to be free was my one consuming desire.

How impatiently I waited for the dark needs no telling.  And some words I overheard pass between my jailors, as they talked over their supper, drove me to such a state of desperation that I had almost there and then dashed myself against the door and ruined everything.

“’Twill be summat new for Parson Jim,” says Jack.

“Ay, ‘tis many a year since he tied a knot o’ that sort,” replied the other.

“D’ye reckon he can tie it safe and proper, seeing he bean’t no more a parson?” asked Jack.

“Never you fear,” says Bill; “once a parson always a parson, as I’ve heard tell.  ’Tis no matter he’s a swab and a tosspot like you and me, only worse, and fit for nothing but a Newgate galley; he’ll read the words o’ the book, if so be he’s sober enough to see ’em (though to be sure his talk is always most pious when he’s drunk), and they’ll be lawful man and wife, same as if they’d bin spliced by the Pope of Rome himself.”

This wrought me into a very fever of apprehension.  I could only guess who Parson Jim might be; the buccaneers gathered all manner of strange recruits; it was enough that there was talk of a marriage, and I was sick with dread lest after all I should be too late.  And when at last I heard the welcome rustle below me, the first words I spoke through the tube were an anxious inquiry for Lucy’s welfare.

“Missy lots better now, sah,” replied the negro, and with the vanity of youth I inferred that she was better for the knowledge that I was near.

“Is Mr. Cludde at the house?” I asked.

“No, sah; Massa Cludde gone yesterday.”

That was good news, at any rate, for I supposed him to have returned to Spanish Town, perhaps to make preparations for his wedding, and it must be four or five days at earliest before he could be back.

“And when is Mistress Lucy’s birthday?” I asked.

“Missy’s bufday Friday, Massa, but oughter be Fursday.”

“What do you mean?”

“Missy keep bufday one day after proper time, sah, cos her muvver die on proper bufday, and Massa and Missy too sorry to be jolly dat day, sah.”

“Does Mr. Vetch know that?” I asked, with no little anxiety, for ’twas Tuesday night, and if Vetch knew that Lucy came of age on Thursday the time was perilously short.

“No, sah; Massa Vetch t’ink de proper bufday be Friday, and he hab told all de black people dey shall get drunk Saturday, ’cos dere will be wedding in de house.”